


the place i go running to.

by waywardway



Series: the stomach is the way to the heart. [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Some Fluff, Some angst, and lots and lots of love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2020-12-24 18:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21103931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardway/pseuds/waywardway
Summary: in which iwaizumi is a not-so-gentle giant, and akaashi needs to be handled with care.





	1. nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> it's finally here! here is the spin off to "the way to the heart" :]

The first time Iwaizumi met him was while he was because of Kuroo. No, not because Kuroo had any hand in introducing them, but because Kuroo put him at the right place and at the right time to see the most beautiful man he had, quite literally, ever seen.

It was Monday. Unlike many of Iwaizumi’s visits to Kuroo’s office, this one was strictly business. He had been asked to be kept appraised of any major plans or developments Iwaizumi would undergo with the restaurants, and shortly thereafter, a fifty-page document had been prepared. When he stepped into the reception area, Futakuchi was speaking in hushed tones with someone Iwaizumi didn’t recognize. Not that that was that surprising; too many people worked at the company for him to be able to put a face to a name, or even _remember_ a name.

“Who’s this? A friend of yours?”

At the sound of his voice Futakuchi nearly rocketed out of his chair into a bow. “I-Iwaizumi-san, good morning. Kuroo-san is still in his five o’clock meeting, he should be done soon.” He seems to be telling the stranger to do the same. Which he didn’t.

“This is—a friend. I guess. Keiji Akaashi.” The stranger finally turns around, and it’s something akin to being punched in the gut.

Breathtaking. That was how he would describe him.

Clearly, though, the feelings didn’t exactly seem to be mutual. Keiji Akaashi looked positively unimpressed with him. “This is the co-chairman.” Futakuchi hisses, thinking he can’t be heard. Akaashi has no reaction to that whatsoever, gives Iwaizumi an indifferent once-over, and then curtly says a “hello” before promptly taking his leave.

“I’m sorry, he’s just like that. It’s not personal or anything. I’m sorry if he offended you.” Futakuchi looks like he wished he could fly over to where Akaashi is pushing past the glass doors and attack him right then and there. Iwaizumi assures him that it’s not a big deal. In no way would he be bothered by a stranger’s odd and uncommon reaction to his presence, nor would he be bothered by the inexplicable look that was practically thrown at him, nor would he be absorbed with thoughts about how he might have seen a real life angel and that angel looked at him as if he was a rusty ass nail.

No such thoughts would bother him.

***

“Hey. Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi-kun. _Iwaizumi-san_.”

The attention he didn’t know was faltering falls back on an annoyed-looking Kuroo, who had been waving a piece of paper in his around in an attempt to get Iwaizumi’s head back from in the clouds. “I was listening.” A poor and unbelievable excuse.

“You know, I’d really like to go home at a reasonable hour. You’re kind of making that impossible.”

“To Semi-san?”

“So, you know. And you’re _still_ keeping me here.”

“What was your first impression of him?” Yes, he was still distracted by the anti-climactic encounter outside Kuroo’s office that day. Yes, he knew it was pathetic. No, that didn’t stop him from being distracted regardless.

Kuroo, letting out an exasperated sigh as if he _knew_ nothing of substance would be achieved in their meeting after all, let the paper in his hand drop onto his desk. “Semi? Not that great.”

“What, it wasn’t one of those disgusting _love at first sight_ kind of things?”

“Not really, no. His first impression of me was probably worse.”

Huh. He felt relived to hear that, but he didn’t know why. A chance meeting with a stranger he would never see again shouldn’t mean anything to him. The key word being _shouldn’t_. The last time he had felt anything like that was close to five years ago, with someone he was still trying hard to forget. That experience had been so scarring that he had no desire to live through that again. It was mantra that he lived by. Or, rather, tried to convince himself to live by. “But things didn’t go to shit with you two.”

“I mean, no, but they almost did.”

Iwaizumi found that hard to believe. Kuroo seemed different nowadays, strides away from the person he had been prior to meeting the guerilla downpour that was Eita Semi. Kuroo, as a person, was far more put together. He was happier. The Kuroo before had always been on edge, fearing the worst and bracing himself for it. This one was grounded. At peace. After ten years, Iwaizumi was happy about the change. He was glad Semi brought it out of him. And he was a little sorry that he couldn’t do more of that himself. “How did you keep it from blowing up?”

“The only way you keep things from blowing up is to keep things from getting to the point where they blow up. Believe it or not, there are actually are people who don’t live off of drama.” Kuroo looks like he wants to add something else, debates for a few seconds, and then ultimately decides to follow it up with words that spoke to his soul. “Not everyone will be like Oikawa.”

***

“Let’s all try to calm down, shall we?” Daichi, the only sane one of the group, says in a voice sickeningly sweet but with so many threatening undertones that Futakuchi and Akaashi begrudgingly taper off their verbal sparring. Semi is barely paying attention, too consumed with his own conversation to even bother interfering in the umpteenth argument between Futakuchi and Akaashi that day.

[ eita semi ] : What the hell happened between Iwaizumi-san and Akaashi?

[ tetsuro kuroo ] : He apparently looked at Iwaizumi as if he was a troll. Verbatim account of events.  
[ tetsuro kuroo ] : He’s pretending like he isn’t distraught.

[ eita semi ] : He looks at _me_ like I’m a troll, and he’s supposed to actually like me.

[ tetsuro kuroo ] : He’s never looked at me like a troll?

[ eita semi ] : He likes you more than he likes me.

[ tetsuro kuroo ] : 😊

***

Iwaizumi sees Akaashi again unintentionally, in an elevator of all places. Despite being the only two in said elevator, Akaashi doesn’t even acknowledge him. The whole thing is unnecessarily irritating. What did it matter what Kuroo’s assistant’s friend thought of him?

“You were the one who came to see Futakuchi-san the other day, aren’t you?”

Akaashi turns to glance at him, blinks, and then turns back to face the doors. “Yes.”

More silence.

“Are you always this quiet?” Good God, he had him doubting if Iwaizumi had accidentally offended his mother offhand. It wasn’t just that Akaashi was quiet; he was dismissive. People usually weren’t dismissive with him. But maybe that had more to do with his position, and that most memorable interactions were with people who were worked under him.

“We don’t have anything to talk about, unless you want to discuss my friend and your friend dating and making a lot of borderline-indecent noises in the middle of the night.”

“…Yeah, let’s not talk about anything.”

“Okay.”

It was then that Iwaizumi, placed behind Akaashi and closer to the right-hand corner, noticed the strap of Akaashi’s bag precariously hanging onto his shoulder. Getting out of the elevator would probably make it slip off. “Hey, your strap—” His hand is reaching out, in theory to secure it back into place, but Akaashi has turned his head and jumped so far away from his hand the elevator slightly ratted at the movement. “I-I got it.” The strap is practically ripped off his shoulder and held into a clenched hand. Akaashi quietly leaves the elevator on the third floor. No goodbye. Not even a look.

What did that mean? He was just going to fix the strap for him, and yet, Akaashi looked at him with so simultaneously-prominent fear and disgust and _flew_ away from him. He’s peeved enough by it that Kuroo addresses him on their way to the basement parking garage after work that day. “What’s wrong with your face?”

“Drop it.”

“Don’t tell me it’s about Akaashi-san. Listen, apparently, that’s just who he is. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. So, stop crying to your diary about it and move on.”

“I met him in the elevator.”

“And?”

“His bag strap was going to fall off, I was going to fix it for him, and he jumped, _jumped_, away from me.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s another thing. Semi told me that he doesn’t like to be touched.”

Iwaizumi made a face. “It wasn’t like I was going to feel him up in the damn elevator. I was trying to do a nice thing.”

“It’s not strictly a sexual thing. The guy doesn’t like human contact, it’s just who he is. Why are you so bothered by it, anyway? You barely know him.”

If only that question was as easy to answer. “It’s off-putting, being treated like I have the fucking plague.”

“If it bothers you that much, wait until he’s comfortable with you.”

_Wait until he’s comfortable_. He wasn’t sure he knew what that meant either. “What, just subtly imply that I can be trusted and he doesn’t have to be afraid of me?”

“You have all the subtlety of a hand grenade. No. I mean give him space to figure you out. He didn’t talk to me that much either at first, but I didn’t push him and left him be, and now he doesn’t look at me like I’m a troll.”

Iwaizumi could do that. In the meantime, he could try to figure a few things out for himself, such as _why_ he was fretting about a (beautiful) stranger who meant absolutely nothing to him and wasn’t even involved in the sphere in which he lived and worked. What Akaashi thought of him shouldn’t matter. They weren’t going to be best buddies anytime soon. The only connection they had was that their friends were together, but even that was a topic neither of them wanted to broach (case in point: “borderline-indecent noises in the middle of the night”). They had nothing. They were nothing.


	2. awkward encounters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> double update today to thank everyone for the support! i've pre-written a bit, and i think this will be about the same length as "the way to the heart." of course, my other stories will be updated as time permits, but i may or may not have another spin off outlined :] seeing as how i love this universe sm, feel free to let me know if you guys would be interested in seeing more kuroo & semi, iwaizumi & akaashi, the new pair, or all of the above, and i'll see what i can do !! enjoy ♡

Leave it to the universe to put Akaashi in his realm when he had already made his mind up about giving him space. That week they ran into each other more times than they had in the three weeks they had known each other; known in the sense of knowing each other existed. At the convenience store, for example, at one in the morning Iwaizumi nearly crashed right into Akaashi exiting the store. He doesn’t even notice who it is at first, too busy trying to keep his blue-raspberry slushie (an embarrassing guilty pleasure) from spilling, and barking out a “watch it, you f—” before their eyes meet and he makes an awkward, verbal stop. Never mind the fact that he nearly threw his back out to avoid completely colliding with him. For three days he lived off Salon Pas to ward off the crick.

One morning he’s jogging, and he sees Akaashi outside what he assumes is his apartment. It’s a three-story building and he’s outside on the balcony on the phone with someone. It would be weird if they saw each other, so he turned the other way and went back where he had gone up.

Pathetic.

At the post office, as he was filling in the postage information for the package he was sending to his mother, Akaashi gets called up next to him. They share an awkward greeting with barely any eye contact. Ever since Kuroo clued him in on Akaashi’s thing against human contact, Iwaizumi finds himself suddenly more self-conscious than he’s ever been. He doesn’t know how close would be too close, and he’s never had to be so careful around other people before, so he’s keeping an enormous gap between them at all times, just to be safe. He feels like an idiot. He leaves the post office wondering what the hell he’s doing, and why he’s doing it. Akaashi was a stranger. That was it.

One night he’s getting ready for bed, and his doorbell rings. Answering it, he finds an out-of-place-looking Akaashi in an old, varsity hoodie and black joggers.

Iwaizumi doesn’t even know what to say. Or, rather, he doesn’t know how to begin the string of questions that are racing through his head, so he says the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you lost?”

“I got your address from Kuroo-san. Could I … Is it okay if I come in?”

He takes a big step to the side, giving Akaashi ample room to slip in without trouble. He’s also thinking that he’s going to have to talk to Kuroo about giving his address away like pieces of gum at grade-school recess. “Why are you dressed like a fugitive?”

“I was in a rush.”

“From?”

“My apartment. Kuroo-san and Semi are being rowdy, and when you tell them to shut up they go louder just to spite you. Usually, I just stay at Futakuchi’s place or Daichi-san’s, but they’re busy, and I had no where else to go.”

“Are you telling me that you asked Kuroo where I lived while he was having sex with his boyfriend?”

“Pretty much.”

“I hope that ruined their night.” That earns him the first smile he’s gotten from him.

“Me too.”

Iwaizumi wonders if this means Akaashi had spent time “figuring him out,” as Kuroo had put it. Then he wonders what that meant. It was kind of unexpected, considering the fact that they’ve spent a week dancing around each other. In all the various interactions they shared, Iwaizumi didn’t really get the sense that Akaashi was any more comfortable with him then than he was at the beginning.

Something must have changed, though, or else he wouldn’t be here.

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. There’s a guest wing in the back, so you won’t even have to see me.” He gets a strange look from Akaashi, one of slight judgement at even having a guest wing, which prompts him to follow up. “Relax, it’s for my parents when they’re in town.”

He’s leading Akaashi across the foyer and through a string of hallways when Akaashi speaks again. “Sorry.”

He’s thinking Akaashi is apologizing for showing up out of the blue and requesting a sleep over, so his reply is nonchalant. “It’s no big deal. At least now I can justify the rent I pay for this place.”

“No, not about staying over. I’m sorry about that, too, but that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

Iwaizumi gives him the space to explain. It takes a solid two minutes.

“I’m sorry about the elevator.”

“Sorry? I’m the one that didn’t know about your—” He needs a second to find the right words. Kuroo was always saying that he was too abrasive, but Iwaizumi preferred to call it honesty. He didn’t believe in bullshitting. But there were probably ways he could be honest without being offensively blunt. Maybe. “Your thing. With people.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

The air wasn’t as tense around them anymore. Compared to the icy tundra of the elevator, they were muddling about in a pool of lukewarm water. But Akaashi had been right—besides Kuroo and Semi, they really didn’t have much to talk about. They hardly knew enough about each other to be able to strike a flowing conversation, and Iwaizumi still felt weird with even the thought of trying to get close to him. They weren’t friends, barely even acquaintances—their relation with each other was best described as “not strangers.”

“So, you work with Kuroo-san?”

Akaashi was starting the conversation. Akaashi. Surprise keeps him from answering right away, but he does, after opening a door into a meticulously clean and spacious bedroom. “Yeah. It’s been three years, almost four.” He’s gesturing for Akaashi to enter first, which he does, staring from one portion of the room to the other.

“What do you do? Futakuchi called you the co-chairman.”

“Nothing major. I manage the company restaurants. Kuroo manages the company. His father manages the school.”

“Do you work as a chef, too?”

“Yeah, at one of the bigger flagship locations in the city.”

“Are you as good as Kuroo-san?”

Iwaizumi can’t help but snort. “Kuroo can’t even compare to me.”

“That’s the exact opposite of what Kuroo-san said.”

Akaashi is delicately seated at the foot of the bed, an equally delicate smile on usually stoic features. It was then that Iwaizumi decided that he far preferred him smiling. When he smiled he looked so much more fragile than what Iwaizumi was familiar with seeing; it was like he was inviting you into a space few others have been to before. It was a privilege, not a right. Akaashi didn’t seem like the kind of person who could freely let people into all aspects of his life carelessly and without worry. Iwaizumi was the opposite. Iwaizumi wasn’t easily hurt.

That made him wonder who had done what to Akaashi to make him so reluctant of human interaction and contact. It had to be someone who ignited that dread. Someone made Akaashi want to permanently close himself off.

“I’ll prove it to you tomorrow morning.”

With that, after briefly pointing out the bathroom and how to traverse back to the main portion of the apartment, he leaves Akaashi to rest. Before he shuts the door closed behind him, a soft “thank you” is said in the closing gap. “Anytime,” is his response.

Akaashi, as it turned out, woke up a lot later than he did. That didn’t stop him from preparing breakfast for him, accompanied with a handwritten note with heating instructions, before he left. On the note, after said instructions, a little P.S. with a series of ten digits is accompanied by smaller writing:

IF KUROO AND SEMI-SAN ARE BEING HORNY TEENAGERS, FEEL FREE TO STOP BY WHENEVER YOU WANT. ASK THE CONCIERGE FOR THE KEYS BEFORE YOU LEAVE. CALL IF THERE’S ANY TROUBLE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don’t know how many of you watch friends, but remember that one scene after monica and chandler announce their engagement, and phoebe wants to play at their wedding so she camps outside their bedroom playing her guitar obnoxiously loud until they give her a deposit? imagine akaashi as phoebe except he’s hitting a pan against the door LOL


	3. thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a longer update today :] a big, big, big thank you for everyone who has been enjoying this story so far! i'm so grateful for the comments, kudos, and the reads ♡ there's still a lot more coming, so plenty to look forward to!!

“Do you and Semi-san have no shame?”

Kuroo looks up, unamused, from the meeting’s itinerary. “Was that intended as a rhetorical question?”

Iwaizumi takes his usual seat next to Kuroo, the second seat on the right side of the long, glass oval that was housing papers stacked at twenty spaces around it. They were fifteen minutes early, as per the norm. “No, that was intended as a serious, _answer the damn question_ question.” 

“You’re going to have to give me a little context.”

“You drove Akaashi-san away from his own apartment. Remember that?”

“We weren’t even being that loud.”

Iwaizumi supposed that answered his initial question. As it turned out, Kuroo and Semi _didn’t_ have any shame. “You would give a murderer my address if he asked while you were getting frisky like two rabbits at the pet store.”

“He asked and wouldn’t go away, so I gave it to him. I was a little too busy to consider making a pro-con list. Besides, if anything, you’re a last resort for him.”

“He showed up last night, citing your sexual escapades as the reason why.”

Kuroo looks infinitely more intrigued. Proud, even. But whether he was proud that he had quite literally driven Semi’s neighbour from his loft or that Iwaizumi seems to have been upgraded in Akaashi’s books is up for debate. “Seriously?”

“He stayed the night.”

“Hey, that’s good! He must not think of you as a troll anymore, that’s a step up.”

“No, it’s not fucking good. I don’t even know how to act around him, up until yesterday I thought he still hated me—”

“Okay. I’m going to ask you something here. Don’t hit me.”

“…I don’t like where this is going already.”

“Do you like Akaashi-san? Is that why you’re all hot and bothered?”

“How can I like someone I don’t even know?”

“I believe you called it ‘those disgusting _love at first sight_ kind of things’.”

“That crap? It’s fake.”

“I thought so too, until I realized that you spend every free minute talking about Akaashi-san, referencing Akaashi-san, being bothered by Akaashi-san, or asking for help on how to deal with Akaashi-san.”

It looked as if Kuroo was bracing himself for a hit or two, but much to his surprise, no such hits came. He was sure he would have if Iwaizumi wasn’t so busy looking as panicked as ever.

“—Do I?”

“Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but yeah.”

“Oh … God. Do I like him?”

“Why are you asking me that? You should be asking yourself. Now, get yourself together. We have a meeting to oversee.”

***

Five years ago, the first and last relationship Iwaizumi had ever been in ended. As cliché as it was, irreconcilable differences were the main reasons why he had decided to call it off. They were different people, and while the beginning had novelty and unfamiliarity to keep them together, as they spent more time with each other, they started growing apart. Iwaizumi was career-driven and focused, didn’t appreciate mediocrity or triviality, and was very no nonsense. Oikawa was preppy, playful, and theatrical to the fullest. It got harder to see eye-to-eye. At one point in their relationship, they had spent nearly three months in the same apartment without speaking. Eventually, gradually, inevitably, the relationship started to feel like settling.

Iwaizumi was the one who broke it off. He was sure Oikawa would never forgive him. They hadn’t spoken since and had only met once, a week after the breakup, when Oikawa came by for his things. No goodbyes. No heartfelt reminisces. The person who had been in his life for four years suddenly disappeared and left behind fading memories of a time when things had been simple and easy.

That had been nearly five years ago. Iwaizumi hadn’t been with anyone else, romantic or otherwise, since then. And, as an added rule, he promised himself that the next relationship had better be with someone extraordinary for him to even consider it.

Never once did he imagine that _he_ would want to be an extraordinary person for someone else.

***

When he arrived home from work that night, he was met with a surprise. The dishes from that morning, the ones that Akaashi would have used, had been cleaned and dried. In their place was a note, written on the back of a business card, a small bottle, a smaller packet, and a single grape candy. In writing that was fitting for him, he had written:

THANK YOU FOR BREAKFAST TODAY. YOU’RE RIGHT, YOU’RE DEFINITELY BETTER THAN KUROO-SAN (DON’T TELL HIM I SAID THAT PLEASE, WE’RE STILL FRIENDS). I WON’T BE ABLE TO COOK YOU ANYTHING OF YOUR CALIBER, BUT AFTER HEARING ABOUT YOUR WORK SCHEDULE, I THOUGHT YOU COULD USE THESE THINGS. HAVE THE PACKET FIRST, IT’S A MULTI-VITAMIN, AND THEN DRINK WHAT’S IN THE BOTTLE. IT’S A GINSENG ENERGY SHOT SO IT’LL TASTE VILER THAN PROBABLY MOST THINGS YOU’VE HAD. HAVE THE CANDY LAST TO REFRESH YOUR MOUTH.

THANKS AGAIN.

It’s only after a few minutes of rereading does he notice that he’s been smiling like an _idiot_ at a 3 by 4 piece of paper. Turning it around, it had Akaashi’s name, phone number, and the name of the company he was currently employed at—it looked like some sort of accounting firm. Clearing his throat, as if embarrassed, he takes the vitamins, drink the energy shot, and then finishes off with the candy provided.

Being along for so long, Iwaizumi wasn’t used to such care. When he was sick, it was up to him to get himself to the doctors, take his medications, and get back into shape. When he was tired, pulling out of that was up to him as well. Kuroo and the others certainly helped, but given the fact that they too had their own lives and jobs to deal with, round-the-clock care was made virtually impossible.

It had been a long time since he’s had someone check up on him.

The clock read 1:24AM. It was early, too early, but he felt the need to say thank you as soon as possible. Hopefully Akaashi had his phone on silent and would read the message later in the morning when he woke up.

[ hajime iwaizumi ] Thank you.  
[ hajime iwaizumi ] You didn’t have to do any of that.

He was about to put his phone down and get ready for bed when it pinged almost immediately afterwards.

[ keiji akaashi ] it was nothing, really.  
[ keiji akaashi ] you looked a little ghastly the last time i saw you, so i figured you were tired.

[ hajime iwaizumi ] You do realize that it’s the middle of the night, and you’re still awake.

[ keiji akaashi ] so are you.

[ hajime iwaizumi ] I just got off work. What’s your excuse?

[ keiji akaashi ] i’m behind on paperwork.  
[ keiji akaashi ] very behind.

[ hajime iwaizumi ] How long do you plan on doing it?

[ keiji akaashi ] until i tire myself out.   
[ keiji akaashi ] i haven’t gotten there yet.

[ hajime iwaizumi ] Ditch the paperwork.

[ keiji akaashi ] ? for what.

[ hajime iwaizumi ] Me.

Once in a blue moon, Iwaizumi would be blessed with regular off-days. Having _both_ Saturday and Sunday off was practically unheard of in his current position, but by some stroke of luck, this weekend was free for him to enjoy as he pleased. Why not be spontaneous? He could spend hours upon hours thinking and pondering the nuisances of what he was feeling and why and for whom and under what circumstances, or he could follow his whims and allow things to happen as they happened.

Half an hour later, Akaashi was at the door.

“I told you I would send you a car. Getting a taxi at two in the morning is borderline dangerous.”

“How would you get a car to me at two in the morning?”

“Being co-chairman has its perks.”

“Let your employees get some rest.”

It was small, minute, perhaps even insignificant, but Iwaizumi started noticing shifts in the way Akaashi behaved around him. He was more talkative, _comfortably_ talkative, and seemingly less wary. He no longer stood an ocean’s-distance apart from him. He was far less stoic and aloof. Whatever the cause, Iwaizumi must have been doing _something_ right.

“I’ll make us some tea. Then I’ll let you in on some class entertainment you won’t find anywhere else.”

He leads Akaashi to the kitchen, pristine and overtly grand. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“No, I’m not allergic to anything.”

A cabinet is pulled open, and inside was possibly the largest array of tea leaves Akaashi thinks he’s ever seen. They’re placed in mason jars, one next to the other, alphabetically and, it looked like, in order of caffeine content. He supposed that much could be expected from a chef of a multi-national food corporation chairman. Iwaizumi grabs the second-to-last jar and carefully measures a select amount of dried tea leaves into two mugs.

“What kind of tea is that?”

“Rooibos. It doesn’t have caffeine and has a lot of antioxidants that’ll keep you from dying at the age of thirty.”

Akaashi was peering over him from across the island, but chances interacting from a _tad_ closer. “Are you a secret tea connoisseur? You’re kind of anal with them.”

Iwaizumi glances over at him while filling a water kettle. “Me?”

Akaashi points his finger at the cabinet in which the tea jars resided.

“Oh, that. It’s just easier maintenance. I made them just the way I like them, but it’s kind of hard to remember the properties and contents of two hundred teas on the spot—”

“You _made_ them?”

Iwaizumi isn’t even fazed by the question. “Store-bought teas are crap. It took a while to get the tea leaves, I had to grow some and others took ridiculously long to get shipped, but I finally have a somewhat varied collection.”

He was too busy precisely measuring two and a half cups of water to see the hint of an endeared smile resting upon Akaashi’s features. “You’re a chairman and a chef, and in your free time you grow and make your own tea leaves.”

“What do you think I did on my days off, throw darts at pictures of Kuroo’s face? I already spent most of my schooling years doing that, I needed a new hobby,” he jokes, handing Akaashi a mug of rich-coloured tea and gesturing towards an opening on the far side of the kitchen. “That way. Careful, it’s hot.”

Past the kitchen, in an area Akaashi hadn’t seen the last time he was here, was a fully set up theatre space. A larger-than-life screen, plush sofas that boxed it in, and see-through cabinets filled to the brim with various snacks and candies.

Iwaizumi, clearly, lacked for nothing.

“Is this the class entertainment you promised me?”

“Nope.”

Iwaizumi takes a seat on the middle-most sofa and tells Akaashi to do the same. The sofas were huge, plenty of space, and while normally with anyone else who wasn’t Futakuchi, Semi, or Daichi, he would take the farthest corner seat to avoid unnecessary closeness. This time he opted for the middle cushion, as Iwaizumi sat on the right-hand cushion. The TV is turned on, the screen far larger than any screen at any movie theatre Akaashi’s ever been to, and is flipped onto a cooking channel.

“Wh—”

“The class entertainment is me. Sit back and enjoy.”

Akaashi was unsure what was meant by that but was quickly let in on it. They must have watched three or four episodes of various cooking programs, and through each one Iwaizumi provided the most critical commentary Akaashi had ever heard from a viewer of a cooking show. A whole lot of “Watch, she’s going to season the chicken with salt and pepper. Who does that these days, anyway? She couldn’t pick literally _any_ other combination of spices? What a sham” and “I’d like to ask him who gave him the ‘okay’ to produce this piece of steaming crap, but I’m afraid to know” and “he’s the judge? _Him_? He wouldn’t know the difference between a barley leaf and marijuana,” and Akaashi finds himself laughing more than he’s done in a long while.

Sometime between the fourth and fifth program, Iwaizumi looks over to find Akaashi fast asleep, mug in hands, and tilted in a way that was sure to leave a crick in his neck in the morning. He doesn’t need to think twice before reaching for the blanket perched across the back of the sofa, carefully prying the mug from slender hands and setting it aside and getting up from his spot.

“Hey.” His voice is soft, careful. “You’re going to hurt yourself, sleeping like that. Can you get yourself down?”

Akaashi mumbles something in response, and his reaction is a little slow, but eventually he just sort of falls onto his side. A smile, rare and practically unheard of for him, forms for his sleeping guest. Spreading out the blanket to cover Akaashi’s sleeping frame, Iwaizumi opts to settle himself onto the adjacent couch. Moments later, they’re both asleep.

***

Iwaizumi is woken up a series of unpleasant buzzing against his hip. And since it doesn’t seem to want to _stop_ anytime soon, a hand pats around until he can fish out his phone, clumsily press the ‘answer’ button, and then put it to his ear.

“What?”

“Are you dead in there? I’ve been ringing the doorbell for fifteen minutes.”

Of course. Who else would wake him on his day off except Kuroo? “Just a second,” he grumbles out, and then abruptly hangs up the call. The entertainment room was soundproofed for exactly this purpose. Uncharacteristically careful not to wake up the sleeping Akaashi by him, he ventures out to the front door.

“Do I even want to know what you’re doing here?”

“This isn’t a leisure visit. Have you seen Akaashi around at all? Apparently, he was supposed to meet Daichi-san two hours ago but didn’t. He isn’t at his apartment and he’s not answering his phone, either.”

Iwaizumi pauses for a second. “He isn’t missing. He’s here.”

The look on Kuroo’s face makes him wish he would have just left Kuroo ringing his doorbell. “Excuse me?”

“He’s here. Sleeping. And before you ask, no, we didn’t do anything. We fell asleep watching TV.”

“Watching TV,” Kuroo repeats, a sly and ridiculously infuriating grin beginning to twinge at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what? Like I can’t believe you two fell asleep _just_ ‘watching TV’ until one in the afternoon?” 

“Oh, shut up. Now you can tell your boyfriend and his friends that no missing persons’ report is necessary, goodbye, thanks for coming.” The door is abruptly closed, because no way was he going to stand there watching _more _of Kuroo’s face watching him all smug and knowing, and truly, the only thing he can do is let out a sigh. He’s thinking maybe he should open the door once more and shout from down the hall that, really, nothing happened, when shuffling footsteps make him turn. Emerging from the theatre room was a newly awoken Akaashi. “Was that Kuroo-san?”

“Yeah, he—well, your friends thought you something happened to you. You were supposed to meet D-D- I don’t remember the name exactly, but _someone_, and you weren’t answering your phone and apparently people were worried.”

It takes a second, as if Akaashi is recalibrating and needing a moment to remember who he was, where he was, and what was being said to him, but when it dawns on him that it’s currently 1:13PM and he had missed not only his plans for the morning but also, presumably, dozens of messages and phone calls, he lets out a groan. “I forgot.”

“It’s okay, he’ll tell them. Want some coffee?”

“Please.”

Akaashi’s surprised that Iwaizumi is pulling what seems to be a commercial bag from the cabinets. “You don’t make your own beans?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffs. “ … The beans haven’t finished growing yet.”

He’s met with another smile, another smile that made you feel as if you were the luckiest person in the world to be able to see it, the kind that made him wonder how and why anyone would hurt him to the point where Akaashi had such a world-weary view of people.

It was also the kind of smile you could stare at for an obscene amount of time, unbeknownst to you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

To avoid _utter_ embarrassment, Iwaizumi merely gives a shrug and assembles the only means by which he drinks coffee: through a filter cone. He was kind of a coffee purist that way, didn’t trust machinery to get the proportions right, and create the exact kind of flavour he wanted. In case there was any doubt, Iwaizumi was incredibly particular. “I was just thinking about how you were snoring last night.”

“—I was not.”

“You were.”

“Was not.”

“I thought someone had broken in with a buzz saw. Luckily, it was just you.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“You’re right. It was more like a jackhammer.”

“You’re one to talk, mister _I like talking in my sleep about how much vinegar is appropriate for Spanish gazpacho_.”

“…What?”

“Last night? I’m not sure what gazpacho is exactly, but you were clearly very passionate about it—”

“Okay, I was joking about your snoring, but why do I get the feeling that you’re _not_ joking?”

“Because I’m not.” Akaashi takes the coffee with a nonchalant yet consciously knowing simper, moving to the fridge that was three times larger than he was. “Cream?”

“Fifth shelf, right door. Wait, so gazpacho?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is anyone surprised by the fact that chef iwaizumi is so stubborn and picky about food that he MAKES his own tea leaves and is growing personalized coffee beans and doesn't trust coffee machines so uses a filter and a cone like he's living in the 5th century and even talks about cooking in his sleep? LMAO


	4. can i kiss you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drama, drama, drama

Iwaizumi and Akaashi kept up contact fairly regularly through messaging, which was usually their only mode of staying in touch during the week. While Akaashi had longer, Monday through Friday hours, Iwaizumi had long and irregularly hours scattered throughout the week.

But more than that, Iwaizumi was just surprised that Kuroo hadn’t found some way to meddle. Thinking as such jinxed him, he was sure of it.

On a day when he finished work at a reasonable hour, he gets a call from Kuroo to meet him at a provided address. It was some kind of emergency, and Kuroo needed him there that very moment. Despite all the shit Iwaizumi talked, if Kuroo really needed him, he would make himself available to him. That was a fatal flaw, clearly. The address led to the parking lot of some kind of night-time festival. He had half a mind to just go back home, because what kind of emergency would Kuroo have at the lot of a festival, but he opted against it just so he could find him and give him a hefty piece of his mind. By the entrance, Kuroo, Semi and Akaashi were seemingly waiting for him.

“What the hell kind of emergency is this?”

Kuroo, that obnoxious bastard, greeted him with a forcibly innocent smile. “Ah, Iwaizumi-san. Glad you could make it. A group of four gets a ten percent discount. Semi and I will go buy the tickets, wait here with Akaashi-san.” And before Iwaizumi could protest, Kuroo’s off dragging a reluctant Semi along with him. He looks towards the _just_ as flustered-looking Akaashi. “Did Kuroo drag you here, too?”

“Kind of.”

“Why is that guy like this, seriously?”

“Isn’t it too cold to be having a festival outdoors?”

Looking at Akaashi more closely, he sees him wearing a jumper and jeans—too flimsy for weather of this magnitude in the middle of fall. In a move that shocks Iwaizumi just as much, if not more, than Akaashi, he shrugs off the jacket he was wearing and hands it over to him, slightly embarrassed and playing it off as if it was really no big deal. “Here.”

“I- I can’t accept that.”

“Just take it before you get pneumonia.”

“_You’ll_ catch pneumonia.”

“I’m dressed weather appropriately. You’re not. Take the jacket.”

Akaashi seems far too grateful for a simple jacket but mutters a sincere ‘thank you’ and slips it on atop the jumper. When Kuroo returns he eyes the jacket that was once on Iwaizumi now on Akaashi, gives a knowing smile, and says “nice progress” before ushering them inside.

Iwaizumi doesn’t think he’s ever spent time with Kuroo and Semi as a couple before. He’s glad he had been deprived of that, because they were absolutely revolting. Seeing Kuroo be all lovey-dovey was the equivalent of seeing a brother or a cousin be lovey-dovey with their significant other—weird and jarring. To avoid possibly getting blinded by nausea, he gives them a five-minute head start, and stops by a drink cart. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Hot chocolate, maybe?”

Armed with their drinks of choice—hot chocolate for Akaashi and a coffee with cream for Iwaizumi—they brace the cold and take a proper look around. The whole lot was decorated with lanterns, and being later into the evening, there wasn’t an overwhelming crowd. They talked about nothing and everything, tried a hand at some games (which Akaashi turned out to be freakishly good at, but which Iwaizumi severely sucked at), and were currently discussing the minutiae of Iwaizumi’s alarmingly specific tea collection when they caught up with Kuroo and Semi.

“There you guys are. Iwaizumi, do you have some change?”

He leaves Akaashi for a second, reaching into his pockets to see what he can spare, and Semi moves off to accompany Akaashi in his stead. One second turns into a minute which turns into ten minutes as Kuroo and Iwaizumi face off on how much the takoyaki was at the stall by the plush toys. There was no winning, and Kuroo is about to turn around to let Semi and Akaashi know that he and Iwaizumi will have to walk all the way back to check, when he sees a scene unfolding. A man, quite easily towering over both Semi _and_ Akaashi, a vexed Semi and an uneasy Akaashi several steps behind him. Whatever had been going on, it seemed to have been going on for quite a while. While the specifics of the words being exchanged were swallowed up by surrounding noises, it didn’t sound good. The man, in a burst of anger, raises an arm, fingers clenched, and Semi’s lack of reaction seems to stir him.

But before the fist can hit its designated target, which Kuroo could only assume was whatever part of Semi it reached, he’s already closed the gap with strong fingers wrapped around the first and stopping it mid-motion.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice of you. You almost hit him.” His grip doesn’t loosen.

Iwaizumi, also sensing something awry, is planted on the other side of Semi, and further shielding the growingly uncomfortable Akaashi. He’s the only one who notices Akaashi holding onto the back of his sweater with trembling fingers. “Can we fucking help you?”

The stranger was obviously drink and unstable. He’s grinning at them, but it’s dry and off-putting in more ways than one. “No, I don’t care about you, you, or your boyfriend. I just want to have a quick chat with the pretty boy behind you. I’ll give him _right_ back to you after. Promise.”

It takes a few moments for him to piece together who the stranger, most likely, was. Akaashi’s nervousness? Semi’s standoffishness? The bastard who looked way too comfortable calling on Akaashi with pet names and a disgustingly predatory smile?

This was who broke him.

“Fuck off, Kamisaki.”

Semi’s interjection only confirms his suspicions.

Part of Iwaizumi really just wants to bash the guy’s head into the cement. Part of him knows that that kind of behaviour from a chairman probably wouldn’t bode well. But it’s like Kuroo’s silently asking him to keep it together. Kuroo had always been the more diplomatic of the two, better at handling disputes. Where Iwaizumi eviscerated them, Kuroo managed to navigate out of them with a skilled hand.

“Alright, let’s not fight in the middle of the street like a pack of wild wolves. My own personal piece of advice would be to, generally, leave people be. How does that sound?” Kuroo’s tone hinges on threatening. Kamisaki towers over Iwaizumi, Semi and Akaashi, but he isn’t even competition for Kuroo. A protective step forward is taken by said male, and the fist that was just barely stopped is whipped off the side and out of Kuroo’s palm. “I would hate to see you get hurt as a part of a public show. I would also hate to rip out a vital organ out of you. But both are likely to happen should you decide to overstep again. Keep away from Akaashi-san. Keep away from Semi. No one has to get hurt.” He catches Iwaizumi’s eye, and gestures in the direction of the parking lot. Iwaizumi doesn’t need to be told twice. He doesn’t want Akaashi behind him, for fear that Kamisaki would try something else after not getting the attention he was evidently searching for, so he guides a slightly stunned Akaashi ahead of him. Kuroo was a little preoccupied himself with Semi, who was also barely keeping it composed.

“Are you okay? Want me to take you home?”

If he hadn’t been looking, he would missed the nod.

After informing Kuroo, who agreed without hesitation, they began the mostly silent journey back. Occasionally Akaahi would give him direction on where to turn, but nothing more was said. Iwaizumi asked just once more if he was okay, in which Akaashi responded with a curt ‘yes.’ He didn’t want to press it.

He’s thinking it’s best just to drop Akaashi off and give him a chance to collect himself. What had happened was still affecting him, and nothing would soothe that except for time. But once they arrive, Akaashi asks him if he wants to come in.

“In? Like … inside?” _Smooth_.

“You can come in. I don’t have handmade tea leaves, but I can give you the most expensive tea bags I own.”

Akaashi’s apartment, the second of three stacked on top of the other, was oodles smaller than his own. Despite that, though, it felt homier. Warmer. He’s starting on the tea, and tells Iwaizumi to make himself at home, but his eyes look like they’re a million miles away, somewhere distant and far. It looks as though he desperately needs to be comforted, but Iwaizumi isn’t sure how to go about doing that. He doesn’t want to cross any lines, especially knowing what he does about Akaashi’s wariness with people, and even more so after the events of the night.

“Akaashi.” It’s the first time he’s called him by his name. It still feels a little foreign on his tongue. The holder of the name must have felt the same also, because he’s turned away from the mugs and packages of tea to face him.

“Is something wrong?”

Iwaizumi feels a little nervous. He’s usually not. He barrelled through life violently and without a second look, not worrying much about who was in his way. There were some who could deal with that, who could keep him straight, and others who couldn’t. Not once had he ever needed nor wanted to be gentler than he was. Except now. He wished he had though, to prepare himself for the day where he would meet someone who was as fragile as they were beautiful. He wasn’t sure how to be gentle, soft, or placid.

But, nonetheless, his hand reaches out, and then stops half-way. “Can I …?”

Akaashi stares at the hand, and then up at the owner of it. He seems to be thinking, debating, contemplating, and Iwaizumi thinks _okay, maybe this was the wrong approach to take_, but then he gives a single nod. “Okay.”

_Be gentle_. Fingers delicately dance along his cheek, and Akaashi shows no aversion. That was a good sign. The moment of silence is broken by another request.

“Can I kiss you?”

Iwaizumi had never really been good at easing into things. He knew what he wanted, knew what he aimed for, so he really saw no need to beat around the bush. Even with matters of the heart. Although, he isn’t really sure where the sudden request _came_ from, exactly—he would have been satisfied knowing that Akaashi was no longer trying jerking away from his touch.

Maybe he just wanted to prove that he wasn’t like Kamisaki. Maybe he just wanted to Akaashi to know that even someone like him could be gentle with him. Maybe he just wanted to figure out what it was about Akaashi that made him want to change. Maybe he just wanted to kiss him.

Slender fingers pinch the fabric of Iwaizumi’s sweater and pulls him towards him. Iwaizumi closes the remaining distance. Their lips meet, just a meeting at first, but then they sink into it; hands in hair, breaths escaping in the milliseconds in between kisses, a thumb carefully pulling at the skin of Akaashi’s lower lip and thereby opening up his mouth, a hand dipping underneath the hem of Iwaizumi’s sweater and pressing against bare skin. Eventually he’s hoisting Akaashi atop the counter, pushing past the mugs and the tea bags with a firm but gentle hand. Everywhere he was touched was set ablaze: his cheek, his jaw, his neck, under Akaashi’s touch a trail of heat. Iwaizumi’s kisses being to stray to his cheek, the curve of his jaw, and he’s about to chance venturing lower, when something suddenly dawns on him. He pauses, pulls back, and makes sure to firmly look Akaashi in the eyes.

“I don’t want to have sex with you.”

After saying that, however, he realized just how terrible that actually sounded. Akaashi looks confused, taken aback, but before he crosses over into hurt, Iwaizumi’s stumbling out words to cover his tracks. “Okay, wait, that didn’t come out ri—”

“It’s fine, I got it.”

“No, I—I _want_ to. But not right now. No rush, or anything.”

He doesn’t miss the fact that Akaashi almost looks relieved. But he also looks amused, fond, and seems to be stifling a light laugh. “Iwaizumi-san.”

That was the first time he was called by his name. It still sounds foreign to his ears but reaches into depths he wasn’t aware existed in his soul. “Hm?”

“Thank you.”


	5. can i?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just really love sweet little interludes ♡

A few days later, on a half-day in which Iwaizumi spent the mornings at the restaurant and then the evenings at the office, he gets a note about someone wanting to see him. It had been a long day without much breathing room, and truth be told he didn’t feel much like having company, but he figured that part of the job required him to put aside personal feelings for the sake of business. It’s what Kuroo had suffered through alone for so long, the least Iwaizumi could do was try to lighten the load.

The someone who had wanted to see him turned out to be Akaashi. Timidly, as if he was afraid he would be interrupting something grave and important, he pokes his head into room. “Are you okay to talk for a minute?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” So much for not wanting company.

“I just wanted to give this back to you. I was on my way home from work and I was passing by here anyway, so I figured I’d just get it out of the way.” In his hands was the jacket he had lent him at that festival, being hung on the coat rack by the door. “I had it cleaned and everything, so it should be good to use.”

“You could have kept it, you know.”

“And leave you to catch pneumonia? I didn’t want to take that chance.”

Akaashi’s smiling, joking, and didn’t seem to be suffering with distraught over the events of that festival. Although, he could just be putting up a front. Iwaizumi got the feeling that, at the beginning when he was convinced Akaashi was stoic and indifferent to him, he was just guarded. Those kinds of habits were hard to break. Case in point, Kuroo. “Are you okay? About what happened … then.”

The question is met with a bit of a snort. “Kuroo-san has called me six times in the past two days to ask. I get bothered countless times a day by multiple people asking. Everyone seems awfully concerned. But I’m okay. It’s fine.”

“Are you really fine? Are you just saying that? Because there’ll be no bullshit of any kind in this house, and if you’re lying to me, I’ll—I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll— be very upset with you.”

A laugh. It put some of Iwaizumi’s concerns away. “Rest assured, I’m really okay.”

“Good. It’s okay if you’re not, I just want you to be honest with me.”

“I think the real question is whether _you’re_ okay or not. Your dark circles are falling all the way to your chin.”

Iwaizumi scoffs, leaning against the sturdy oak of his desk. “I’m not that tired. It’s just been a long, long day.”

Akaashi lets out a knowing hum, cautiously taking a step, two, three, four, until he’s situated in between Iwaizumi’s legs. And, just like he had done with him, fingers reach out to gently brush against his cheek. “Maybe I can help. Can I?”

Oh, if only he could have been suave and nonchalant about it. Maybe it was because he hasn’t been, in any sense of the word, intimate with anyone in a long time. Maybe it was because, suddenly, he felt himself flush, his heart beating so loud he can hear it in his ears. Maybe he just found that he liked being around him. Whatever the reason was, he couldn’t answer right away. He can only manage something of a nod. Being treated with such care was a wholly other experience for him; there wasn’t much of that in the _only_ other relationship he’s had. But not only that, this itself was different than when he had kissed Akaashi after dropping him off at home the day of the festival. This was all Akaashi; the one who was wary, cynical, and circumspective about contact. The same one who had been insouciant with him. It was a far bigger commitment than when Iwaizumi had kissed him that day.

Even so, commitment and all, Akaashi kisses him. It’s ardently gentle and warm, and he feels his hands reaching out to touch him as a reactionary response, but then they falter last minute, uncertain if it’s something Akaashi would even want or be okay with, and it wasn’t as if Iwaizumi had asked for permission like the last time—he’s faltering, until he feels fingers hold onto his wrists and pull his arms around Akaashi’s waist. That was really all the permission he needed, Iwaizumi’s hold on his waist tightening and nudging Akaashi’s frame closer into his chest. Fingertips are grazing across his nape and through his hair, and he’s let out an eased exhale because _God_ it feels like being embraced by home.

When Akaashi has pulled away, not terribly far, it’s like Iwaizumi is stuck in a haze. “Iwaizumi-san, when do you get off?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure. Okay.”

Stifling a beguiled smile, slender fingers have taken a hold of Iwaizumi’s chin in an attempt to get him back to planet Earth. “You didn’t answer my question.”

But he just _really _looks like he wants to be kissed again, so Akaashi gives in. Just for a moment (and then a few moments longer afterwards). “Okay, now answer my question. When do you get off?”

Iwaizumi seems better, relatively, but his hold on Akaashi’s waist hasn’t loosened. “An hour and a half.”

“Come by after. I’ll cook you something.”

An eyebrow rose. “_You_ are going to cook me something.”

“Yes. Semi-san and Daichi-san are both chefs, and I’ve seen Kuroo-san cook a few times. I’ve picked up a few things.”

Immediately, Iwaizumi’s interest was piqued. Very rarely did he have meals that were made _for_ him; being a chef meant that he was usually doing the cooking, and while sometimes Kuroo-san’s father asked him to be a judge at one of the academy’s cooking competitions, that wasn’t exactly the same thing. “Okay. But stay here until then. You can help me with something.”

A single arm is unhitched from its hold around Akaashi’s waist and is precisely reaching behind him for a stack of about thirty or so single sheets of paper. He holds them out for Akaashi to grab.

“These are the first wave of acceptances for the restaurants on the peninsula. These need to be weeded down from thirty-six to fifteen.”

“Sixty-percent of these people are going to be cut?”

“Now you see why I need your help. You’ll be a fresh pair of eyes.”

He gets Akaashi situated on a smaller loveseat by the roaring fireplace and uses the spare time to look over the financial reports that had been delivered that morning. Occasionally he would steal a glance or two, just to see how he was faring; each application (which consisted of contact information, experience, and a statement of intent) was read with excruciating care, thoughtfully and wholeheartedly as if they were words from a personal friend. Now, Iwaizumi also took great measures to thoroughly read through the applications that were sent in, but the sheer volume and speed in which it needed to be done prevented him from being able to pour over one for longer than absolutely necessary. But the serious manner in which they were read was endearing, to say the least, and captivating, to say the most.

Needless to say, having Akaashi there was almost more distracting than if he hadn’t been. It was worth it, though. The more he saw him, the more he _wanted_ to see him. Admittedly, Iwaizumi hadn’t been entirely sure how the two of them could work, even just as acquaintances. They were vastly different people. He thought it would be difficult to tailor himself to be the kind of person Akaashi would want around him, but as it turned out, not much tailoring was actually needed. It was easy to be gentle with him. He _wanted_ to be gentle with him.

An hour and a half passed by in a blink of an eye. Getting off of work with Akaashi, getting invited to spend the evening at his place, hearing him talk about this or that – it all felt so normal. Typical, as if he had been doing it all this time. Driving home he’s listening to a tangent on how Akaashi prefers scientific calculators over financial calculators, something about how financial calculators were “too easy,” and he knows almost _none_ of the jargon that’s being used nor what the difference even was between a scientific calculator or a financial calculator, but he’s sure he could listen for hours and hours on end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a shorter update this time, i apologize! there are some big, Big things in the works for this story though, and in all honesty, it may even be longer than "the way to the heart" at the rate that i've been writing it :] 
> 
> oh, and expect another interlude a few chapters ahead! i have nearly 3000 words (and counting!!) of a travel interlude written up which i want to stick in in between these upcoming chapters and then the final chapters. the interlude will be about three to five chapters depending on how long it ends up being which, knowing me, will be anyone's guess. thank you for all the love for this story ♡


	6. really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, i feel like i should say really, really loudly THAT I LOVE OIKAWA AND KAMASAKI AND I FEEL BAD FOR VILLAINIZING THEM FOR THE SAKE OF THIS STORY. second of all, the travel interlude is up next :]

“Iwaizumi-san, what an unpleasant surprise.” Kuroo chirps in what was probably the most obnoxious, sing-song voice to ever come out of a living being. He was just lucky this exchange was by phone, otherwise he would have gotten something thrown at him.

“I’m going to choke you.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—Semi’s here.” Not that Semi was even listening. The ginger problem from several months ago escalated into a honey problem, which meant that Semi had gone to the store and bought fifteen different types of honey to taste and try, which meant that his brain was in cooking mode and _not_ in socializing mode.

“I need your help.”

“What’s up? Girl trouble? _Boy_ trouble?”

“You and Semi have been out. _Out_ out. On dates. Alone.”

“Was that a question?”

“How do you ask? Should I be forward and straight to the point or, I don’t know, write it in chocolate icing on a cake?”

“That depends. Does Akaashi-san seem like the kind of person who would want a straightforward invitation or an iced-on-a-cake invitation?”

Akaashi’s name causes Semi to turn his head from the fifteen bowls of honey before him. “Who is that?” He mouths. Kuroo makes sure his response is loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear on the other line. “Iwaizumi. He has a crush on your friend and doesn’t know how to ask him out.”

The look on Semi’s face mirrored the look Akaashi gave them when he came knocking one morning, asking if their headboard was still intact. He gives Kuroo a quick kiss before returning to writing his nth page of notes on the origins and flavour profiles of all of his fifteen types of honey.

“Can I kill you?”

“Not yet. So? What do you think? Straightforward or icing?”

“I have no fucking clue. I can’t tell. If I write it on a cake, I’m kind of afraid he’ll look at it and be grossed out and throw it at my face.”

“Iwaizumi, I think you’re confusing Akaashi-san for _you_. Also, I wasn’t being serious about the icing. You’re not asking him to the prom. I’m not that close to Akaashi-san, and even I know that he wouldn’t like something like that.”

“…You’re probably right. I’ll just go up to him and tell him, ‘hey, go on a fucking date with me or something, and don’t say no because that might literally crush me.’”

“Let me ask you something. Are you actually stupid?”

“Kuroo, I swear to fucking God—”

“Since it’s clear you know Akaashi-san even less than I do, I’ll help you out.” Kuroo pulls his phone from his ear for a second, calling for Semi, “I’ll be right back, okay?” He gets up, slips on a jacket, and ventures down a floor.

“What are you doing?” Iwaizumi’s voice is laced with suspicion and a slight twinge of fear.

“God’s work.”

The door opens. Akaashi was, evidently, still asleep. That was only natural, since most of sane Japan wasn’t up at six-thirty in the morning tasting honey and making notes. “Morning, Akaashi-san.”

Iwaizumi is eerily silent on the other end of the phone for five seconds too long. “Kuroo.”

“K-Kuroo-san?”

“Nice bed hair. What do you think about Iwaizumi-san?”

“Huh?”

“Grumpy? Black hair? Looks like a thug? You looked at him like a troll?”

“I… I don’t know… I like him, I guess…”

“Kuroo, shut your fucking mouth. Get out of there. Stop talking to him. Stop. Do you hear me?!” But all such warnings are ignored.

“If he were to, say, ask you out on a date, would you rather he ask you straight up or would you rather he bake you a cake and write you an invitation in chocolate icing with frills and edible flowers?”

Akaashi blinks. Then blinks some more. “Straight up.”

“Interesting. And if he came up to you and said ‘hey, go on a fucking date with me or something,’ what would you say to that?”

“No.”

“And could you explain to this simpleton _why_ you would say no?” Kuroo is holding his phone out so Akaashi could speak right into the speaker.

“I don’t want an invitation for a date and a profanity in the same sentence.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Akaashi-san. Go back to sleep.”

The short trek back to Semi’s floor, he hears no end of profanities from Iwaizumi. He gets threatened five times, all with different weapons. And then, in a quieter tone, Iwaizumi mumbles, “Should I go over there today?”

“It’s a fine day to ask your crush out on a date.”

***

“So, how are things with Iwaizumi-san?” Semi is the one who asks the question, but Akaashi had gotten the feeling that the rest of them had wanted to ask for a while. It was like they were hoping that he would bring the topic up himself, which he didn’t, and because he didn’t, they continued waiting and hoping he would bring it up. He had to admit, part of the reason why he hadn’t said anything was because he was curious as to how long the nosey idiots he called his friends could go without being told what they were, clearly, dying to know.

“You never mention him. Are you sure you even know him?” Futakuchi jokes.

“He’s never mentioned him, but at least the two of you have met him. I haven’t. I’ve only heard descriptions from Futakuchi, and honestly, they really aren’t doing Iwaizumi-san any favours.” Daichi seems peeved, but really, what else was new.

“What do you mean?” Akaashi feigns disinterest, casually stirring in cream into his coffee.

“’The devil incarnate’? ‘Bad-natured bastard’? ‘Terrifying thug’?”

Akaashi gives Futakuchi a look. Futakuchi, however, waves a hand dismissively. “He may be nice to you, not that we would know since you’ve _never_ brought him up, but he’s known as the hard ass to everyone else.”

“He isn’t the devil incarnate, a bad-natured bastard, nor a terrifying thug.”

“Iwaizumi-san isn’t that bad,” Semi adds, albeit it wasn’t a very helpful interjection.

“Not that bad?” Daichi repeats.

“I’m not close with him so I can’t say, but Kuroo-san has known him for a long time, and he says he’s a good person. Bad follow through, but a good person.”

“Okay, let me just say this so you all can shut up about it: he’s good. It’s all good. Everything is good.”

And with that, he’s excusing himself to go to the bathroom. He appreciates their concern, and understands their curiosity, but it’s a lot of concern and curiosity for the sake of two people who aren’t even in a relationship yet.

Seconds after he walks in, only wanting to wash his hands, someone else follows. He thinks nothing of it, until the stranger speaks to him.

“You’re Akaashi-san, right? You’re with Iwa-ch— Iwaizumi-kun?”

Something about this interaction has already made him uncomfortable. Not only does this stranger know his name, and Iwaizumi’s name, but the way he’s looking at him is far too unpleasant for a stranger to look at him like. Akaashi wants to label the look as contempt, but it’s not exactly as strong; it’s more like deliberately stifled scorn.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Iwaizumi-kun and I go _way_ back. I was surprised when I found out about you.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“You’re so far from his type. But I guess a lot can change in five years.”

“… Excuse me.” He’s finished with his hands, dried them with a single paper towel, and is about to leave this unnecessarily uncomfortable setting when the stranger blocks his only exit with his arm.

“I’m not done yet.”

“I’m not interested in having this conversation.”

“I am, though. Iwaizumi-kun needs someone strong by his side. I wasn’t. I was younger then, and a lot less mature. But I’ve grown up. He needs someone like me.”

“If you think you’re in the position to speak on his behalf, I don’t think you’re as mature as you say you are. Have this conversation with him, not me.”

“I will. I definitely will. I just thought I’d extend a little courtesy and warn you in advance.”

“I’ll consider myself warned.” Although Akaashi had the last word, he leaves feeling as if he had still lost. When he returns to the table, he says he isn’t feeling well and should probably rest so as not to get sick. But, while his friends were nosey idiots, they weren’t morons.

***

One of the most annoying things about Kuroo was that he had completely illegibly handwriting. It was all scribbles, scribbles that slurred into each other, which made distinguishing one word from the next virtually impossible. He finds himself holding out the paper in which Kuroo has written two paragraphs of something he wanted Iwaizumi to read, holding it out toward the light, holding it up really close, holding it out really far, but there is no remedy to terrible handwriting. Iwaizumi is actually in the middle of trying to decipher if a word says ‘today’ or ‘tomorrow’ when he hears his phone buzzing. Without thinking, and without checking the caller ID (which, in retrospect, he really should have), he answers.

“Yeah.”

“Iwa-chan, it’s been a while!”

Already, he’s put in a sour mood. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. Although, what Oikawa was doing ringing him at two in the afternoon on a Thursday was beyond him. The paper is lowered and placed onto the desk before him. “Don’t call me that. What do you want?”

“I miss you. We used to talk all the time! Are you free tonight? Let’s catch up, talk, bury the hatchet—”

“I’m not.”

“Iwa-chan, don’t be like that. You missed me too, I know you did!”

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but stop. I don’t want to talk.”

“Really? Even if it was about Akaashi-kun?”

Hearing Oikawa call Akaashi’s name, by any honorific, put a bad taste in his mouth. “Don’t bring him up.”

“Why not? We had a nice chat a few days ago! He’s nice. Pretty, too. Kind of pallid, though. Like those field mice.”

“You what?”

“Oh, it was lovely. Lovely, but disappointing. I thought whoever you’d end up with after me would at least be on an even playing field.”

“How do you know him? Why?”

“I saw you two together last week.”

“And?”

“And so, I did a little digging. I have the resources to do that, you know!”

“What the hell is wrong with you? What did you say to him?”

“Don’t be so uptight, Iwa-chan. If he is really right for you, he won’t be scared away by a confrontation with me.”

“Oikawa, I’m warning you right now, stay out of this. This isn’t a game. Akaashi isn’t a game. Leave him, leave me, just leave it all, alone.”

“I’ve accepted the fact that I can’t have you yet, but I’ll be damned if I let someone like _him_ have you in my stead. It’s just incomprehensible and completely _out _of the question. I’m not the same person I was five years ago, Iwa-chan. Being with you was the happiest I’d b—”

“Don’t call me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t show up anywhere near me. Stay outside a hundred-mile distance of me, Akaashi, and everyone else we know. If I wasn’t done with you before, I’m done with you now.”

This explained a lot. Akaashi had been strange lately, unlike himself. It wasn’t drastic to the point where Iwaizumi felt as if he could ask without risking the possibility that maybe he was misreading, or overreading, the situation, but it was there. It wasn’t that he seemed angry or distant or cold, it wasn’t that he had started shutting him out again, but for a while it was like he was there but also not. Something was missing. He was quieter than usual.

Iwaizumi still had about an hour before he could officially go home, but this couldn’t wait. He tells his assistant that he needs to cancel everything he has left for that night and makes his way directly to Akaashi’s apartment. Akaashi not staying at his place and insisting on staying at his own was the first red flag that he should have brought up sooner when it started becoming more frequent a week or so ago, but he hadn’t, thinking that there was some other explanation as to why. Clearly, there was, and that explanation was a little, devious asshole who had made an unwanted reappearance back into his sphere.

The door is opened after the first knock. Akaashi seems a little bewildered that Iwaizumi had shown up, especially during the hours in which he was usually still in the office or at the restaurant. “Iwaizumi-san? What … What are you doing here? Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words aren’t accusatory, rough, nor condemning, but they aren’t exactly cheery, either. Akaashi doesn’t respond right away and is instead ushering him inside from the biting weather outside.

“What are you talking about?”

“The conversation you had with Oikawa that I had to found out about through him. Why didn’t you tell me?”

A displeased crinkle of his nose is the only response he gets for a while. “I was just … processing. It was a lot.”

“I know it was. That’s why I wish you would have told me when it happened.”

“Iwaizumi-san.” The abrupt tone surprises him. “I don’t want to compete for your affection. Oikawa-san still seems to like you a lot, and I understand if there’s unfinished business there that you want to take on. I won’t stand in the way. I’d rather you do what you want to do.”

“Is that what you think is going on?”

Akaashi seems confused at those words. “Isn’t it?”

“There is no competition. I made that clear to him, and I’ll make it clear to you. He has no part in this, not to me.”

“ … Really?”

“Really.”

And although Akaashi had said that he no longer needed to ask for permission to get close, Iwaizumi didn’t exactly want to thoughtlessly transition from making sure Akaashi was okay to doing whatever he wanted regardless of whether Akaashi wanted it or not, so an arm is extended in silent invitation. He always gave him the choice to determine how close he wanted to be, what he wanted, and what he didn’t. More often than not, though, for Akaashi, being close with Iwaizumi was as analeptic as it used to be to keep a safe distance from him. Gracile arms slip within his unzipped jacket, body sliding underneath the left unzipped flap, and Iwaizumi brings him further into his chest. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m doing a great job at protecting you from the insane.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Iwaizumi-san. I just want you to be here.”

He wasn’t used to hearing those words. In the only other relationship he had ever had, him just being there had never been enough. Day in and day out he heard “why aren’t you more loving to me?”, “don’t be so cross,” “be more affectionate,” “I don’t want you working so many hours,” “don’t put your job first,” “if you actually want to be with me, prove it”—no end of demands and expectations that made it increasingly hard to keep track of all the things he was supposed to be implementing. They weren’t outlandish demands, but the never-ending, perpetually growing list had put a lot of strain on him, them, until things started falling apart by the seams.

Akaashi didn’t particularly _want_ anything from him. Several times Iwaizumi had offered to get him, for example, a bigger TV (Akaashi’s was so small compared to the one he had at his own apartment that a piece of chicken looked like a cauliflower to him), a better phone, a refrigerator with a water filter built in, smart home technology to make things more convenient for him, but Akaashi rejected every offer. Often Iwaizumi apologized for finishing work so late, but Akaashi would smile and tell him that he liked how dedicated he was to his job. Whenever Iwaizumi had trouble expressing delicate sentiments (no matter how hard he tried or practiced, it just wasn’t in him to pull it off with ease), Akaashi would never get impatient with him, and instead looked at him with the fondest expression and say that he understood, even if Iwaizumi wasn’t able to say anything (one time he was having so much trouble that Akaashi had to stop him for fear that he would pop a blood vessel).

He just felt incredibly lucky.

That night they ordered take out, a wholly new experience for someone like Iwaizumi who had never even dared to, watched television on the smallest screen he’d ever seen, and even drank 100 yen tea from a bottle—that one was a little hard to get him to agree to—but it was the nicest night he had had in a while. It wasn’t really despite those things, or even in spite of those things, but because of those things. Because of him. Akaashi is looking at Iwaizumi inspecting the ingredients listed on the tea bottle, thinking that he wasn’t being watched and therefore would be able to secretly express his complete distaste of cheap, store-bought tea, and it’s dark and he’s comfortable and at the sudden recognition that Iwaizumi had come all this way just for him, he feels compelled to kiss him. Very few times has Akaashi initiated kisses himself: usually Iwaizumi did, or at least, started to and gave him the option to follow through, or Akasahi would ask for kisses by taping at his lower lip, but the times when Akaashi actually went the distance could probably be counted with one hand.

This time he did.

It takes Iwaizumi by surprise at first, as it should have, but it’s only for a moment, because soon after they ease into it. Akaashi is pulled atop his lap, and he feels careful fingers undoing each button lining his dress shirt, and with his heart beating reverberating inside his mind all he can think is that he’s never felt more alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sure we can all guess what happened next ... asdlkjsdf. also, in case anyone was curious, iwaizumi asked akaashi out on a date and he was painfully awkward and endearing, akaashi couldn't stop laughing, iwaizumi was like "stop laughing!! stop laughing or else i'm leaving!!" and akaashi was like "okay, no more laughing, i promise" but he has to cover his mouth until iwaizumi finally got the words out :[ and for their first date, iwaizumi went ahead and rented out an entire restaurant overlooking the sea of japan and they sat and ate and talked and smooched for hours upon hours :[


	7. i love you, part 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the travel interlude :]

On the month of Iwaizumi’s birthday, he and Kuroo were scheduled for a month and a half long overseas business trip. A few times a year they would visit other branches, investors, and business partners, and this particular year those trips fell on the month of his birthday, two months after Kuroo’s birthday, and in the middle of the summer season.

Being apart from Akaashi for a month and a half seemed like a new brand of unmediated psychological torture.

Semi managed to wrestle four weeks off to join them for the first part of their trip. When Iwaizumi asked if it was really okay to be doing that—they both had the same job (albeit Iwaizumi had to manage the company restaurants on top of it), and a restaurant without a head chef for four weeks didn’t seem like the smartest business idea—Semi assured him that this was all part of a quote-unquote _plan_. “I’ll still be doing all of the executive work, but a good sous chef should be able to manage the cooking without my help, and if Sugawara-san is incapable of that, then he needs to go,” is what he had said. He supposed that was _one_ way to break in the help.

Akaashi’s schedule was a little harder to adjust. Semi, Kuroo, Iwaizumi, they didn’t have a boss above them. While that didn’t necessarily mean they were free to work whenever they pleased and take however many days off they wished, they certainly had more flexibility than others who did have a boss. Akaashi apologized to him about ten times straight, and Iwaizumi reassured him that it wasn’t a big deal, honestly, and that they could celebrate when he got back. What else would he say? “Quit, come with me, I make enough money for the both of us”?

The day of their departure, Akaashi had just enough time to accompany them to the airport. Iwaizumi told him not to, that it was fine and that he would call him when he arrived; part of that was because Akaashi had work and going to the airport at the crack of dawn meant waking up hours earlier than he had to. The other, smaller part had to do with the fact that having to say goodbye to him at the airport right before boarding a plane seemed harder than saying goodbye to him at home. During check-in and breakfast, Iwaizumi had half a mind to ask Kuroo if his presence was _really_ necessary at those meetings and dinners and gatherings. But it wasn’t as if he didn’t know the answer to that (as co-chairman, of course it was; Kuroo’s father, because of ill health, couldn’t attend, and while Kuroo was definitely more of the diplomatic one of the two, he would still need support), and it would have been more of a rhetorical question than anything else.

Eventually, though, he gets tired of Kuroo glancing over at him every couple of minutes as if he felt apologetic that Iwaizumi had to tag along. Understanding was one thing, but pity was something completely different.

“Stop looking at me like that.” They’re seated at a café by the gate, a threshold Akaashi wouldn’t be able to pass. Kuroo and Semi were stalling for Iwaizumi’s sake, something he was both thankful and irritated by. “I’m fine.”

Neither Kuroo nor Semi looked as if they believed him. When it came time for it, they say goodbye to Akaashi first, Semi a minute longer than Kuroo, and disappear past the automatic doors.

He didn’t realize what a big part of his life Akaashi was until he had to say goodbye to him.

“Be careful, okay? And don’t forget to eat regular meals. Don’t skimp. Don’t stay up too late. You can stay at my place if you want to, too.” He has about a billion other things to say, things like how it was going to get gradually colder so he needed to dress warmly, how it would rain a ridiculous amount so he needed to carry an umbrella, not to walk through alleyways in the dark, to _please_ stop drinking the 400 yen instant coffee Akaashi was obsessed with and just take a bag of the coffee beans Iwaizumi kept in his apartment, and hell, just to take the coffee bean grinder too, but Akaashi’s hands are reaching out and pulling him in for a kiss, successfully and efficiently stopping any such babbling. It’s reciprocated tenfold, and then arms are engulfing Akaashi into the expanse of his chest, the smaller frame fitting in like a puzzle piece.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” Akaashi says, mumbled into the crook of his neck, sweater-clad limbs holding onto his waist.

“This is making it really hard for me to leave. You know that, right?”

He hears Akaashi laugh, hands on his waist and carefully prying himself a sufficient distance from him. “You need to get going or else you’ll miss your flight.”

A kiss or two later Iwaizumi feels somewhat better about leaving. Somewhat. He’ll see him in a month and a half, it wasn’t as if it would be months or even years. A month and a half. Seven weeks. It was doable. Or, at least, that’s what he had to think. A final goodbye, and he’s on his way to the gate. Looking back would mean more of a delay (God knew that seeing him would make him want to hold him _just once more_, kiss him _just once more_, and there would no end to that cycle once it started), so he doesn’t, but he feels fingers around his wrist before he can make it past the doors.

“Iwaizumi-san.”

Akaashi’s voice. He turns, eyebrows knitted in concern. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Be careful.” A pause. It looks as if he’s getting ready to say something else. “I— I love you.”

For what felt like hours but was actually just a handful of seconds, he’s having trouble breathing. It was because of the surprise of it all, hearing those words for the first time in so long, hearing those words with actual sentiment and not merely as an empty shell of obligation, hearing them from someone who took up so much space in his heart it was practically his; in that moment, amidst the bustle of people and his assistant blowing up his phone asking him where he was and why he wasn’t past security, all he can think about is him.

“I love you.” Just as it had been so long since he’s heard such words, it had been just as long since he’s said them. And then he’s kissing him again, and again, and again, and Akaashi’s laughing again, and he’s laughing, too – needless to say, it’s a long while before he joins Kuroo and Semi on the other side of the gate.

***

“Do you think he knows?”

“Not a chance. Iwaizumi is more oblivious than a pile of bricks. Let’s just hope he lasts long enough to see it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued in the next chapter !!


	8. i love you, part 2.

Three weeks in and he’s _sure_ that this is psychological torture.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing from one day to the next. Days bleed into each other in his mind, so much so that what happened yesterday seems like it happened last week, and things that happened last week seem like they happened yesterday. He’s on jets more times than he has been in his entire life, and he’s met more people than he could possibly count within this lifetime. From morning until evening, he and Kuroo had scheduled meetings and lunches and dinners and presentations with barely enough travel time in between. Every few days he’s in a different time zone, which made sleeping a feat and rest unheard of. The time zone issue also made it so that, sometimes, he and Akaashi had to go days without speaking. They would message as often as they could, but the universe wasn’t going to be kind enough to have their free time match up, so when Iwaizumi had a moment’s breathing room Akaashi would be at work or asleep, and when Akaashi got off of work Iwaizumi was usually stuck in back-to-back meetings, travelling, or catching up on the sleep he was missing.

A lot of the fatigue, however, had to do with the fact that sleeping was difficult when the person he usually slept with was missing. For the past five years Iwaizumi revelled sleeping by himself. He liked the space, the quiet. A few months of having Akaashi with him, though, had shattered such thinking.

Basically, a summary of his three-week experience could be fully expressed with four words: being alone sucked ass. It made him irritable and grumpy and sulky and about a hundred other things that, while it didn’t affect how he would behave amongst important business people nor his duties as a chairman that his long time friend and his father trusted him with, the second he got back to whatever hotel room he had for the day he wasn’t exactly up for a three-person dinner with Kuroo and Semi, sightseeing, or general merriment of _any_ kind. Occasionally they would drag him out, but for the most part they left him be.

Four nights before his birthday he had returned to the hotel after a gruelling nine hours. The only thing that made it bearable was the fact that the next two days would be free of any schedules—the next day they would get on the jet bound for Australia, where they had a full day off before resuming scheduled activities. But before he can get inside his room Futakuchi stops him to ask him some mundane question about his dining preferences for the flight tomorrow. When he finally does make it inside, he finds a suspicious-looking Kuroo, and a completely stoic Semi.

“Your room is next door.”

“We got you something.” Kuroo’s tone itself makes him apprehensive. The last time he sounded like this Iwaizumi opened a box to find a rhinestone dildo inside. Kuroo was thereafter banned from getting him gifts of any kind.

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”

“It’s a pre-birthday present.”

“Again, not interested.”

“I think you’ll want this one, Iwaizumi-san.”

All he can do is let out an exasperated sigh. He was too tired to spar with these two. Kuroo and Semi disappear into his room, a little nook separated from the main dining area, and he thinks he hears shushes and some kind of rustling before they emerge, empty-handed. “Is this some kind of j—”

Something is being pulled out from behind them, and Iwaizumi is momentarily confused because he doesn’t understand what this game is, until a sheepish Akaashi is thrust towards him.

It must have been the jet lag, the lack of sleep, and the meetings overload, but it takes a good few minutes or so for him to register what’s happened. He’s having difficulties thinking its real at first, so much so that Kuroo has to walk over and shake him a little and say things like “Hello? Everything okay? It’s Akaashi-san. You like Akaashi-san, remember?” Eventually, when he regains his senses, he’s opening his arms and is met with a hug that has him stumbling back a few steps, completely enveloping Akaashi’s body into his own.

“Ah, so he’s returned. Listen you two, dinner is downstairs in two hours. Don’t get too frisky. Oh, and happy early birthday,” Kuroo gives his back a slap before he and Semi take their leave, but truthfully Iwaizumi isn’t even listening to a word he’s saying nor does he acknowledge their absence (he had forgotten they were there ever since Akaashi was brought out from seemingly nowhere), and instead is trying to wrap his head around how he’s _here_, right when he needed him most.

“How—When—”

“It was all planned with Kuroo-san and Semi-san before you left. It would have been impossible to ask for a month and a half off, but I managed a month, and the timing worked out with the day of your birthday and everything.”

He still can’t believe that he’s actually here, tangibly here, and he has so many things he wants to say, but the only thing that comes out is an “I missed you,” followed by Akaashi’s own “I missed you more,” and they’re like that for a while before the exchange is moved to someplace far more comfortable. Back half-leaned against the plush headboard and Akaashi’s torso perched atop his chest, his fingers run through the curly black strands of his hair, and listens as he’s updated on what’s missed since they last had an actual phone conversation five days ago. Three weeks had been long and tedious, and he had thought that being kept busy would help keep him from dwelling on Akaashi’s absence, but it had somehow made it worse. He wondered how Kuroo had managed to do this all on his own for two straight years. Iwaizumi doesn’t think he would have given up, but it would have been a lie to say that he wouldn’t have dreamed of it.

Now memories of all such troubles had dissipated. More than anything, this was what he had wanted for: being able to do nothing with him, talk with him, touch him, feel his breath, take in his scent, generally just _exist_ with him.

“You look tired, though. Was the flight rough? Did Kuroo make you take a commercial flight?”

“No, the flight was fine, he had a plane all set up for me. It was just hard to sleep without you.”

Iwaizumi not being able to sleep properly was a mild annoyance but hearing that Akaashi couldn’t sleep properly was a thousand times worse. “Me too. I don’t think I’ve slept through the night once since I left.”

He sees Akaashi smile. “I know. I spoke with Semi-san yesterday, and he said you were ‘at the peak of aggravation’. He said he would see you before he went to bed and you’d still be awake when he woke up and you’d be in a worse mood.”

“…He’s exaggerating.”

“Kuroo-san confirmed it. He even asked if I could come any earlier, he was worried that you would start breaking down in front of investors.”

“As if I would ever.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it sooner. I tried to, but it was—it was a whole thing.”

Pecks are peppered along Akaashi’s temple and cheek before arms wrap around his shoulders. “Don’t be. I’m just happy you’re here, being without you for any longer would have been an occupational hazard for anyone coming into contact with me.”

Akaashi lifts his head, an index finger tapping his mouth; his endearing way of asking for a kiss. One kiss turned to two which turned to three and soon enough Akaashi’s back is being sunk into the pillows, fingers fumbling with zippers and buttons, pulling on fabric and discarding it over shoulders and onto the floor.

Three weeks away from each other meant that they had a lot to catch up on.

***

“You two have gotten really domestic.”

The observation, courtesy of Kuroo, breaks Iwaizumi and Akaashi’s conversation. They look over at him, but with drastically different expressions.

“Iwaizumi-san is very affectionate.”

That tidbit of information elicits two, simultaneous responses from Kuroo and Semi. Kuroo, suddenly a little more interested in hearing about the double life of his gruff, _people need not approach me_ friend, rests elbows onto the table, chin resting in the middle of open palms as he asks a “really?”, whereas Semi looks slightly mortified at the revelation, pulling a “Iwaizumi-san is?”.

“Okay, Akaashi, let’s n—”

“But I feel like he likes it more when I’m affectionate with him.”

“You’re encouraging their beh—”

“His favourite is when I kiss the tip of his nose. It’s cute. He’s very cute.”

Kuroo grins. “Oh my God, that’s gross. Tell me more.”

“He likes falling asleep on top of me, and he likes being woken up with kisses. There’s this other thing too, but—” Akaashi can barely get out that sentence though, because Iwaizumi has picked up a piece of carrot with his fork and popped it into Akaashi’s mouth to abruptly halt the exposition of anything else. He finishes it off with a quick kiss. “Shh. They don’t want to hear about this.”

It was the first dinner since they departed that Iwaizumi could actually enjoy. Even Kuroo and Semi were a little more bearable with Akaashi next to him, leaning into his side with his cheek against his shoulder, fingers splayed across his back and his own arm around Akaashi’s waist. Three weeks apart meant that Iwaizumi wouldn’t let go of him, possibly for the entire month that they would be abroad, and possibly even longer. Later, he thanked them for bringing Akaashi to him. They responded in very them-esque fashions.

“No problem. Although, I would be lying if I said it was a hundred percent for you. You were starting to scare some of the business partners.”

“Don’t forget the bellboys, Kuroo-san. And the drivers. Even the locals couldn’t make eye contact with him.”

All true. Kind of.

That night he got the most decent night’s sleep he’s had in nearly a month. With Akaashi curled into his chest, limbs entangled and comfortably resting against each other, it’s much needed comfort that he’d been missing. Before he falls asleep, a foreign concept to him at this point, he makes sure to say the one thing he needed to say, that he had been waiting to say.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Iwaizumi-san.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the travel interlude continues in the next chapter !!


	9. i love you, part 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final part of the travel interlude, something short and sweet to mark a very important arc for these two cuties ♡

As it turned out, buying a birthday present for Iwaizumi was a ridiculously difficult task. What could he possibly give someone who already _had_ everything? And it wasn’t as if Iwaizumi had tons of hobbies and interests that could serve as possibly gift ideas—he didn’t have a lot of free time, and therefore he kept his interests to a bare minimum: cooking. But, according to Kuroo, chefs were very fastidious about their cooking utensils and tools, so it wasn’t as if Akaashi could just buy a set of paring knives and call it a day. Not to mention the fact that Iwaizumi already had an impressive collection of knives and cooking knick-knacks, half of which Akaashi had never seen nor heard of. In hopes that perhaps it would give him some inspiration, the last time he was over at Iwaizumi’s apartment, he took a look around to observe what kinds of things Iwaizumi owned.

The answer to that was not much.

There weren’t a lot of meaningless items around. No decorative items, either. What he owned were, what Akaashi assumed, essentials: televisions for entertainment, kitchen equipment for cooking, sofas and chairs to sit on, tables to eat on, clothes and shoes to wear, a computer and phone for business, and that was about it.

Since the sleuthing hadn’t been successful, Akaashi tried another method: asking him outright.

“Iwaizumi-san. Besides cooking, what are you interested in?”

Iwaizumi had been rummaging through some drawers looking for a particular tie pin. “You?”

“…Besides me and cooking.”

“I don’t know, tie pin holders?”

“I’m being serious, Iwaizumi-san.”

“So am I.”

That was the end of that. Iwaizumi liked practicality. But with the means to purchase any item he thought practical, looking for something material to purchase was growing to be a worse and worse idea.

The sleuthing and the outright method both failed. So, he went to his last resort.

“What did you buy Kuroo-san for his birthday?”

Semi didn’t seem fazed one bit, reaching underneath the collar of his shirt to pull out a medium-length, thin chain with a plain, silver ring dangling on the end. “Couple ring.”

Akaashi supposed that wasn’t the worst idea, but he had never seen Iwaizumi wear any kind of jewelry, and the last thing he wanted was for Iwaizumi to feel pressured to accept a gift he didn’t even want and use it despite not wanting it because he had gotten it as a gift.

So, for a little over a month, he had pondered and struggled and contemplated. A week before he was scheduled to leave to meet Iwaizumi, Kuroo and Semi abroad, he finally settled on something. The only thing he could get someone who already had everything was to give them something they couldn’t buy (according to Daichi, but he wondered how seriously he should take relationship advice from his very single friend), and one of the things you couldn’t buy was sentiment. Supposedly. 

He decided to give it to him the night before his birthday. Iwaizumi and Kuroo had some events scheduled on his actual birth date, so the birthday celebration would have to wait until the evening, and Akaashi didn’t think he could wait that long.

Deciding when to bring it up had been another issue. He was a little restless, nervous, thinking up what he should say to accompany the gift (which he had already been doing for the week, but some things sounded better the first time he ran it through, and then by the third time he had changed his mind, and by the tenth time it was completely different than what he had planned to say), and then he thought maybe it was better not to say anything, and then he thought maybe he should say a _little_, and then he started doubting whether the gift had actually been a good idea, and then, eventually, he got tired of grilling himself in his head and just dove in.

“Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi looks over at him, gaze torn from the stapled package of paper he had been reading prior. “Hm?”

“I got you something. For your birthday.”

“But you’re the present.” He says it so matter-of-factly that Akaashi finds it a little endearing, but no way can he afford to get derailed now when it took him _this_ much courage to bring it up.

“I meant something aside from me. And don’t worry, I already heard from Kuroo-san that you don’t like celebrating your birthday or getting gifts, so it isn’t anything big.”

Iwaizumi does look a little curious though, so Akaashi is sliding off the bed and disappears for a few minutes. He returns moments later with a small, black box, and hands it over for it to be opened. Inside was a piece of red cord, cut and knotted into a circle, placed atop the black cushion.

“I think that people are fated to be with each other. But sometimes we get unlucky and don’t find the person we were meant to be with, so we settle for less without ever getting to know our soulmate. It’s easy to be unhappy when you haven’t met the person whose right for you, you know? And the thing about you is … I really think that you’re that person for me. You love me, you take care of me, you make me happy, and I’m just so thankful for it. All of it. And you.” He’s a little sheepish as he’s saying these things, not having had many chances to articulate such things and not knowing if what’s he’s been babbling on about made any kind of comprehensible sense, and so he’s about to apologize for not being able to explain it properly when he feels hands on his cheeks pulling him in; seconds later he’s being kissed, unwittingly letting out a relieved exhale. He had just metaphorically given Iwaizumi his whole heart, and the kiss was the seal of gracious acceptance he had hoped for.

“I love you. I love this, too. This is _almost_ better than having you as my gift. Almost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is slowly winding down to it's final few legs! i really, REALLY want to have a christmas chapter out before christmas, and i vow to try my very best to get it out by then :]


	10. it's fine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is not the Christmas chapter, but it’s coming two chapters later! very late, but enjoy nonetheless ~

During the month of October, Iwaizumi doesn’t see Akaashi for a full twenty-four hours once. Not once. He would see him for a few minutes when he got home from work, but not for too long, because he would be so exhausted from the day that he would have to go to bed. Sometimes, when Akaashi had an earlier shift, he would see him for a few minutes before he left for work. But really only a few, because he couldn’t afford to spend as much time as he actually wanted without risking tardiness. On his days off, Akaashi always had work. On Akaashi’s days off, he usually had work. It was the threshold of the peak season for the restaurant, a relatively long stretch of time between late September throughout late January, and not only that, but the main hiring cycle. He had a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it, and stretching his hours as much as humanly possible meant that there were very few hours left to go around. Akaashi had also recently been made head of his department, an immensely consequential promotion and yet another eater of time.

They communicated solely through notes and messages. If they were lucky, they could manage a phone call. Iwaizumi came home late every night slightly wary that Akaashi would be upset with him, but he was always warmly received (if Akaashi was still awake) or groggily greeted with a slurred “welcome home” (if Akaashi had fallen asleep).

One November night, after a gruelling fourteen-hour day and a shell of the human that he used to be, he arrived home to see a disgruntled Kuroo sitting at the table with Akaashi, and about fifty papers spread across every surface within a meter radius of them. Both heads turned at the sound of the front door clicking open.

“Iwaizumi, hi. Sorry, I know it’s late but I have that meeting tomorrow and I needed more numbers from the accounting team but I forgot to ask and now it’s too late and I didn’t know what else to do so I asked Akaashi-san if he would help and he said he wou—”

“It’s fine. Really. He’s smart, he’ll be good help.” He walks over, Akaashi holding his arms out to give him the best hug he possibly could sitting down, and him reciprocating it with a small kiss to the forehead.

“Go get ready for bed, I’ll be there soon. I’m almost done.”

Akaashi notices right away that Iwaizumi seemed more tired than usual. Iwaizumi was usually pretty tired when he came home from work, but tonight something was off. Different. Kuroo must have noticed it too, because as soon as Iwaizumi was out of earshot, he’s the first one to comment on it.

“Does he seem okay lately?”

“Relatively…he seems more tired today than he usually is.”

“It’s got to be rough for him right now. The middle of the peak season is always the worst. And dealing with the new hires on top of that? I feel like I’m drowning and I’m not even _touching_ the restaurants.”

“Peak season…?”

Kuroo gave him a strange look. “Yeah, peak season. Didn’t he tell you? September to January. He’s right in the thick of it right now.”

It takes him a while to process that information. Iwaizumi never gave him any indication that he was tired or drained or having a difficult time. Being tired should have made him crass or sensitive or irritable or quiet or moody but every time Iwaizumi looked at him it was the same amount of love and fondness it always held. He wasn’t short with him, or noticeably frustrated. How tired must he have been to not be able to repress it? And why would he repress it in the first place?

Akaashi started paying a little closer attention from then on. He made sure, as much as he possibly could, that Iwaizumi was eating properly and sleeping for as long as he was able to. He had energy supplements and teas that he prepared for him every day, multiple times a day. Iwaizumi was always telling him that he was okay, it was fine, and he was handling things, so he didn’t need to worry. He said it so many times that he almost believed it.

One afternoon, mid-November, he got a call from Kuroo while he was at work.

*******

“You call him.”

“Me? Why me?!”

“Because, you’re better are delivering bad news than I am.”

An exasperated sigh, and Kuroo is fishing out his phone from within his jacket pocket. It’s a short conversation; Akaashi picked up right away, presumably because of the oddity of it all (they messaged mostly, so getting a call from him couldn’t be because of anything good).

“I think you need to come to the hospital. The one downtown, across the street from the office. Iwaizumi had a little—a little stroke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i also want to take this time to say that overworking/overstudying really does a lot more bad than good. it takes a bad toll on your body, and unhealthy sleeping and eating patterns because of extended hours of stress can cause strokes and other health issues. please, please, please be careful and mindful, take time for yourself and make sure you are well taken care of. this is especially important for those who are alone this holiday season and may not have someone to watch over you and make sure you’re good and okay. you come first ♡


	11. ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update took ridiculously long, but i hope everyone enjoys it nonetheless ♡ although i may not be updating everyday, i am continuously thinking about this story and them and how i want it to play out!! i'm also thinking of making a twitter completely devoted to not just this story but my others, and my future ones, where i would post hcs and updates and let you all into my head a little more when it comes to this world ~ if that's something that you all would be interested in, feel free to let me know ♡

“This is so overdramatic.”

Or so he says, despite the fact that his speech is slowed and careful; he was tired, he didn’t have much energy for conversation, and the medication he was given hadn’t kicked in yet.

“I don’t think the guy who just had a stroke should be nitpicking about his treatment.”

He had needles and IVs stuck to both arms, they had taken more than enough blood samples, and he was scheduled for CAT scans and MRIs and X-Rays for the preceding few days. _Days_. According to the preliminary tests, the doctors assumed it to be a small (emphasis: _small_) stroke, but they weren’t sure. He was to stay for a week or so to monitor his progress, and if deemed well enough, would be discharged. But because his condition was something of an enigma still, they “couldn’t guarantee a specific discharge date.” Kuroo told him not to worry, that the restaurant and the company would be fine without him for a few days, but it wasn’t much of a reassuring thought.

“Forget about work for a second, would you? How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Then why are your eyes closed?”

“I’m resting.”

Truthfully speaking, he had a killer headache. He didn’t know how it was possible, but every bone in his body ached down to the marrow. The hospital lights, although dimmed, hurt his head. This was absolutely unbelievable; months, _years_, he had spent in this profession working these hours and not once did he have to be hospitalized for it. The peak season meant that he was required to put in more time than he usually would, so he always took extra care of himself and his health during the months surrounding it to keep himself in shape. That usually worked. It usually balanced out.

Usually.

“I called Akaashi.”

Iwaizumi peeks an eye open, albeit with a lot of effort. “He’s mad?”

“He will be, when he sees what state you’re in. Because, and I hope you take this the way it’s intended, you look like shit on a stick.”

It’s only moments after that the closed door is practically thrown open, a slightly disheveled Akaashi rushing in. Despite the chilling weather, he wasn’t wearing his suit jacket, let alone a jacket at all; clad in the white button-down he went to work in, company lanyard still around his neck, he takes one look at Iwaizumi attached to about a billion cords and lines and drips and starts to cry. It isn’t a sob, it isn’t hysterical, but he looks as if he’s in such a state of shock that tears are falling without him being able to register it at all.

“Wh-What’s wrong with him? What happened?” He looks to Kuroo, eyes wide and completely dumbstruck.

“The doctors they—they think it’s a small stroke. Irregular sleep patterns, not enough nourishment, you know … He’s getting B12 and some supplemental vitamins through an IV, and that, that’s some blood pressure thing, and that was used to test his blood. Semi’s out now getting him something to eat.”

A dazed gaze is redirected to every beeping knick-knack and technological machine that surrounded the hospital bed. Iwaizumi tries to ground him again by calling his name once, twice, thrice, but it’s like he’s shell-shocked, and he can’t look away from the contraptions, nor can he focus on anything other than the fact that someone who held his entire heart in their hands was almost taken away from him.

“Hey.” The word is brusque but not cold, and a hand reaches out to carefully grasp onto Akaashi’s cheek to pull him out of the trance with care. He’s finally looking at him, _properly_ at him, and his eyes hold so much fear and panic as he cries that Iwaizumi does the one thing he knows is a sure-fire way to soothe him. “Come here.” Stumbling steps approach him, guided by the hand on his cheek, and he’s pulled into a kiss. Akaashi’s eyes are squeezed shut, and Iwaizumi can hear his breath catching, but afterwards he hears Akaashi taking his first full breath since he’s come into the room. Their lips grow apart just so that Iwaizumi can tuck him into his chest, fingers carefully brushing through strands of dark, curly hair. “I’m okay. I’m sorry.”

It’s a while before Akaashi feels mollified enough to speak. He cries into Iwaizumi’s shoulder, staining the shirt wet, and it’s only the hushed words of comfort and the soft kisses to his temple that keep him from completely breaking apart. Iwaizumi suffering a stroke, whatever the scale, was bad enough. But what made him exponentially worse was the thought that it _could_ have been worse. Things could have been so much worse, and he could have lost him forever. Akaashi couldn’t even imagine how drained Iwaizumi had to be to have had a side effect like this, and he couldn’t even imagine how difficult it must have been for him to come home every night and keep up the pretense that things were manageable and he didn’t have anything to worry about. For a split second he thought that Iwaizumi was lucky, lucky that despite everything he had put his body and psyche through that it didn’t kill him, but that thought alone seemed so terrible to even think. His mind was venturing down a dangerous spiral, but the thought that stopped it midway was that Iwaizumi shouldn’t be comforting him. It wasn’t him in pain. It wasn’t him tied to IVs and machines. Iwaizumi was hurting, and Akaashi couldn’t be doing this on top of that.

His fingers, still having a hint of tremors, are woven into Iwaizumi’s shirt, and he pulls back from the embrace so as to properly face him. Iwaizumi was saying he was okay, but Akaashi knew that some of that, maybe most of that, maybe _all_ of that, was to quell his worries. His mouth was saying that he was okay, but something about his expression was off and told an entirely different story. “I’m sorry. I—I knew that you were working too much and I knew that it was the peak season for you but I thought—I … I guess it doesn’t really matter now. I should have looked out for you more, you’re always looking out for me and I—I just wish you would have told me. I wish you would have told me that you were having a hard time and about the peak season, I wish I would have known. You _seemed_ fine, so I thought that it would pass, like during the work trip. But I was—I wasn’t thinking, I should have—”

“Akaashi. Stop.” Fingers carefully untangle a hand from the breadths of his shirt, gently smoothing out the tense muscles before entwining them with his own. “This isn’t your fault. Okay? I don’t want you thinking that this is in any way your fault. I should have been more upfront and been more careful. This was my own lapse of judgement. You … You’ve done more for me than I could possibly say. You are enough. You’re more than enough. So, please. Don’t blame yourself.” The sleeve of his spare hand is carefully clearing the stray tears from Akaashi’s cheeks, and though he can tell that Akaashi too was placating him a little, he sees something resembling a smile cracking through the surface of panic and dread and worry. That was a start. The reason for his adamance in keeping Akaashi as far away from the nitty gritty of his everyday life was because he didn’t want him to needlessly worry for him. By no means was Akaashi frail, nor did Iwaizumi think it would be too much for him to handle, but Akaashi had such little experience having someone care for him completely, protect him shield him, and make him feel at ease. Iwaizumi provided whatever material comforts that Akaashi would allow him to, which really wasn’t too much, but it was more of the emotional distress that he wanted to keep him from. Maybe that wasn’t exactly in his best interest, though. Maybe it wasn’t fair of him to want Akaashi to let him into the deepest parts of his mind but refuse to do the same.

“Iwaizumi-san.”

“Hmm?”

“I love you. And I understand. But please don’t keep me away.”

A simple nod is his response, an endeared smile, and another kiss. It seemed, too, that somewhere between the time where Kuroo brought Akaashi up to speed and now, he had left them, for moments later he and Semi returned with a plastic bag in tow. “Now, this is probably going to be some of the most disgusting food you’ve ever eaten, but consider it a punishment. Unseasoned chicken breast, kale salad, and steamed beans. Semi looked it up, they’re part of your recovery process.” He’s placing it atop the wheeled tray, which Akaashi drags in place next to the hospital bed.

“You have to stop using my recovery as a means to torture me.”

“Is it my fault you went ahead and gave yourself a stroke? Now be quiet and eat your unseasoned chicken.”

This makeshift dinner was an insult to his taste buds, and he didn’t quite feel like his 100% self again, but he was surprised by the amount of people who dropped literally everything to stand by him. These were people with busy careers, people who couldn’t make enough time for even themselves, who had stopped everything that they were doing, for him. And despite the fact that he would likely be getting a very concerned phone call from his parents the next morning, and probably a visit from the chairman, and the responsibility of choosing his placement and planning the next month or so the doctors suggested taking time off, he felt at ease. He trusted them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will delve into post-hospital iwaaka, stay tuned ~


End file.
